


A Girl and Her Wolf

by wilddragonflying



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Copious liberties taken with elven lore, Dragon Age Theories, F/M, Like, Retelling of the game, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, Spoilers, for the whole game, scenes that i think would have made the game a lot better, with a few added scenes of my own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since she first entered the Fade, Miir'ven had dreamt with her wolf. She thought that this would be her life-- surviving with her clan, and living only in her dreams. Then, everything changed when the Conclave was called.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Girl and Her Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> So, first things first: I totally blame sasstielwinchester over at tumblr for this, and for encouraging my Dragon Age/solavellan obsession. Because I got to wondering why Solas's LI requirements were so strict, and then I thought "well, he IS Fen'Harel... SOULMATES"
> 
> Also I've seen some theories floating around(the day I posted this, actually) that the elven gods and the Old Gods were the same-- but tbh, that's something I've thought ever since my second playthrough, when I first took Solas to the Fade. More thinking and midnight ramblings fleshed out the theory.
> 
> Anyway, obligatory "I don't own any of these characters/ideas/settings/etc I'm just playing in the sandbox" disclaimer here.

As long as she could remember, Miir'ven had walked the Fade in her dreams. The first time she'd done so, her Keeper had been there and had immediately begun teaching her lessons about how to protect herself; Miir'ven didn't know why, at first, but gradually she came to understand that not all spirits in the Fade were like her wolf-- some were demons, spirits who would gladly take over her body and lock her out of it.

The Keeper didn't know about her wolf; no one did, for Miir'ven was not a stupid girl, and had realized that her wolf was special. She didn't want to share him with anyone. But as time wore on and Miir'ven dreamed with her wolf, watching his memories with him, she grew to realize that her wolf was even more special than she'd realized: He was the Dread Wolf(looking back on it, she should have made the connection sooner, especially since he _did_ have six eyes). Still, she was not afraid. She had seen his memories, lived them as he re-lived them in his dreams, and she knew that the tales the storyteller told were not the whole truth, but warped versions of the truth. She soon learned to keep her opinions on the matter to herself; no one understood why she would stand up for Fen'Harel, not when he'd taken the other gods away from them. They did not know the truth that she did, but she did not tell them; she did not wish to be ostracized more than she already was. Miir'ven was one of the few mages in her clan, and she was still different, even from them. Where they learned the magic of the fire and cold, Miir'ven preferred the spirit and storm. She grew proficient in it, and even learned to use her staff as a weapon independent of her magic; there were times when her mana ran low and enemies closed in on her, and Miir'ven did not like the thought of running away. She'd rather be in the thick of things, fighting for her people.

When Miir'ven came of age, she shocked her clan by refusing to take the vallaslin. Her Keeper had asked if she simply didn't feel ready for it, and she had responded by saying that there was no vallaslin for the god she would bind herself to. The Keeper pressed the issue, and eventually Miir'ven confessed that she would bear the mark of Fen'Harel proudly if she could, for she had traveled deep into the Fade(a lie, but still she kept the secret of her wolf) and had witnessed other spirit's memories of the Dread Wolf, and their memories were different from their stories. He was a Trickster, knew how to twist his words to get what he wanted, but he was no simple villain. He was complicated, she said. He did as much harm as good, but always with the right intention; often, she had seen, he was the only one of the 'gods' to keep his promises, even if not in the manner expected.

The Keeper had sighed, warned Miir'ven not to tell anyone else of her reasons, but had allowed her to keep her face bare. That night, when Miir'ven slipped into the Fade, her wolf was awake for the first time.

She'd been startled, to say the least-- she was used to him being asleep, and her laying beside him and joining him in his dreams-- and had blurted out, "I know who you are."

All six eyes had glinted strangely, but Miir'ven did not feel frightened. "Do you, child?" he'd purred. "Then tell me my name."

"You are Fen'Harel," she said confidently. "The Dread Wolf, He Who Hunts Alone. And I do not fear you."

The wolf had moved towards her then, but Miir'ven had stood her ground, allowing him to circle her, eventually coming to a stop before her. "Why do you join me in my dreams, child?" he'd asked. "Every other spirit who found my resting place ran."

Miir'ven had shrugged. "I do not know how I did it," she answered truthfully. "But I have never feared you, and I have always woken here when I sleep in the world."

That seemed to catch the Dread Wolf's interest, if the suddenly perked ears were anything to go by. "You woke beside me the first time you ventured into the Fade?"

Miir'ven nodded. "I was young, barely five winters," she told him. "My Keeper called me away from here each time I came; she taught me how to protect myself from demons and the like, and when she deemed me ready she let me travel on my own. But I've only ever come here." It hit her suddenly that perhaps intruding upon the Dread Wolf's dreams had not been the wisest course of action; at the least, it was downright rude. "I am sorry if I gave offense by sharing in your dreams without your permission," she said sincerely.

Fen'Harel surprised her by laughing. "Child, you are the only one to do so as long as I have been in uthenera. You are special; I woke earlier today, but do not know why. Perhaps you have a clue?"

Miir’ven sensed that he was not being entirely honest, but…She trusted Fen’Harel –with a healthy dose of suspicion – and told him what had transpired, how she'd refused to take the vallaslin for there was none to honor him. Her words seemed to surprise him.

"You had to have seen the origin of the vallaslin in my dreams, little one," he said. "Why would you choose to brand yourself as mine?"

"Because the meaning of the vallaslin had changed, Fen'Harel. The Dalish have reclaimed it in the ages you have slept. We wear it now to honor our gods, yet there is still none for you, the god that I feel most drawn to, most loyal to."

Fen'Harel had made a thoughtful noise, then had bid her to wake; he must think, he said, but he would enjoy meeting her again in the Fade if she wished.

************

And that became her new pattern, then, for the next ten years. She would spend her days as she normally did, but her nights were now spent exploring the Fade with the Dread Wolf at her side, rather than simply staying in one spot and dreaming. Curiously, the Fade now looked different, even the area that Fen'Harel had long ago claimed as his. It seemed... Alive, for lack of a better word. They journeyed through every part of the Fade that Miir'ven could reach, and when they ran out of places to explore, they revisited some, or simply spent time talking.

But one night, Miir'ven came to tell her wolf that she was leaving the clan; her Keeper was sending her away, ostensibly to spy upon the shemlen as they tried to end the war between them, but Miir'ven knew better, knew that she was not expected to return to her clan.

Fen'Harel approved, saying that now she would be able to see all of Thedas through her own eyes, not only those of the spirits they'd encountered. He promised to come with her, to follow her in the Fade; she asked why, and for the first time, he refused to answer, saying only that he would follow her.

After the explosion at the Conclave, she lost more memories than just what had happened at the Temple. She knew she was important to someone, but who... She could not remember, nor could she remember where she'd met them. She did not remember her wolf, and she tried to avoid the Fade in her dreams; for some reason, it was too painful to enter.

************

Fen'Harel kept his promise, following the elf to the Conclave; she was not wise in the ways of the world, but she had a good head on her shoulders, and a good heart. He followed her because she was his; he knew from her memories that she often thought of him as her wolf, and she was closer than she realized. They belonged to each other; no other being would have been able to slip inside of his memories without his express permission if they did not. Fen'Harel had not had a mate since long before the fall of Arlathan, and then too it had been a mortal, elven woman. It seemed he was cursed that way.

Unfortunately, his uthenera had had a side effect; while his physical body had awakened as well, it was too weak to hold his true power, to use the focus to bring it back into himself. As such, he sought help, giving the focus to Corypheus-- a mistake, as it turned out. He'd not counted on Corypheus being as powerful as he turned out to be, and it cost Fen'Harel dearly; while, thanks to the Breach, he was able to regain his full power, it came at a great cost: the lives of every soul present at the Conclave, except for Miir'ven. Fen'Harel could not pretend that he was not happy that that was the case, but he wished that they had met under better circumstances. He tracked Miir'ven through the Fade to a human camp, and that was where he went; he walked in freely, surrendering his staff(not that he needed it for anything other than to keep up the ruse that he was a simple apostate) and saying that he could help. In fact, his mere presence helped stablize the elven woman, and the fact that her mark was granted by his focus helped even further; it was no magic he had seen in this world, but he knew it through the Fade and from the past, and that was enough for him to keep her alive. Completely stablizing the mark, however, would mean closing the Breach, or at least the first rift it had opened.

Miir'ven woke a few days after the explosion, and Cassandra immediately took her for questioning; Fen'Harel-- Solas, he would need to remember was his name now-- did not protest. As far as Cassandra was concerned, he was merely an apostate who'd been able to help; he did not know Miir'ven beyond that, and he would have to act accordingly.

When Cassandra and Miir'ven came to the rift where Solas and another prisoner-- Varric Tethras, a dwarven author-- were helping soldiers fight demons who'd emerged from the rift, Solas did not think before grabbing Miir'ven's wrist, helping her to use the mark to seal the rift. It was only after she'd wrenched her wrist from his grasp, demanding what he'd done, that he realized that had been the first time he'd touched her in either plane. "I did nothing," he said, forcing himself to remember his ruse. "The credit is yours."

Miir'ven had been skeptical, attributing the success to the mark, but had not pushed, instead speaking with Varric and Cassandra for a moment before Solas pulled her attention back to him under the guise of introducing himself. The woman had dark, auburn hair and a strong face; what stood out the most, aside from the missing vallaslin, were her eyes: Deep blue ringed pure white, they were striking against her dark skin. She had a single scar, and Solas remembered how she'd gotten it: out with the hunters as she searched for herbs, she'd been surprised by a group of shem; one had lashed out with his knife, and narrowly missed taking out her eye. Solas remembered the fury he'd felt, that his mate had come to harm, and at the fact that he could do nothing to avenge it, not trapped in the Fade as he was while his physical body still searched for a way to unlock his focus.

Varric interrupted, telling Miir'ven of how Solas had kept her mark from harming her, and she'd professed her thanks, which he'd accepted before turning to Cassandra and speaking to her. They moved on, and Solas noted through their encounters that Miir'ven wielded her staff expertly, firing off spells and bursts of energy with almost mechanical precision, and unafraid to use the staff itself as a physical weapon rather than a channel, often striking demons across the face with it when they closed with her, allowing her the moment she needed to gather her mana and hit the demon full on with a spell. She seemed a bit put-out about something, and when Solas questioned her about it, she shrugged. "I miss my staff," she said simply. "It was made for channeling storm magic, and was incredibly sturdy. I suppose it was destroyed in the blast."

"You were not found with a staff," Cassandra confirmed.

Miir'ven sighed. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to craft a new one then," she said simply, and that seemed to be that.

When they reached the forward camp, Solas was struck once again with the realization that she would have made an excellent Keeper; Miir'ven was quick to bring everyone's focus back to the task at hand, and decided to charge with the soldiers, citing the need for urgency. On the way to the ruined temple, they encountered another rift, which Miir'ven sealed without his prompting; Solas praised her on it, and she smiled, pleased.

In the temple, Solas reassured Miir'ven and Cassandra that the rift was the thing that needed sealing, not the Breach itself-- but even for him, that was simply a hypothesis. One that turned out to be almost accurate, once they'd dealt with the Pride Demon and others that came through, and Miir'ven used the mark once more. She collapsed afterward, only sealing the rift and not the Breach itself, but it was enough to stablize both Breach and mark, and while the effort had simply exhausted Miir'ven, she was no longer in danger from his errant magic.

Miir'ven slept for three days, and each night Solas searched for her in the Fade, desperate to find her-- but he never did. When she woke, there was much to be done, and they didn't have a chance to speak for another day, the day that they were due to leave for the Hinterlands, to talk with a Chantry mother so that they could deal with the threat the Chantry posed to the newly-formed Inquisition so that they could then deal with the Breach.

Solas had started with a joke, to which she responded in kind; he quickly sobered, and after another moment's conversation, he asked, "Have you journeyed much in the Fade?" He knew the answer, of course, but Miir'ven's response surprised him.

"I don't know." She sounded frustrated, and when he looked to her in confusion, she clarified, "I know I have been there, but I cannot remember what happened or how deep I went. It's... Painful to think about, like I'm missing something vital, something that I would be better off forgetting. Yet I can't shake the feeling that whatever I'm missing was-- is-- extremely important to me. But I don't have even the slightest clue as to what it could be, and the past few nights, when I've tried to enter it to find whatever it is I'm missing... I wake up, and my head feels like it’s going to explode."

That was why Solas couldn't find her these past days, then-- whatever had happened at the Conclave had interfered with her connection to the Fade, or at least her mind's connection. He would not let his disappointment show, however; there had to be a way around it. They made small talk for a little while, mostly him talking about his own adventures in the Fade, before Cassandra came to tell them they were ready to leave for the Hinterlands.

They arrived near the Crossroads, and found chaos. The templars and mages were fighting amongst themselves, with innocent people caught in the middle. Miir'ven was ruthless, and more than once Solas had to duck when he got too caught up in watching the elf wreak her own havoc among the templars and mages, graceful and efficient in her quiet fury. He approached her once the fighting was over and she'd spoken with Mother Giselle. "Your fighting is quite impressive," he praised.

Miir'ven chuckled. "Because I refused the vallaslin, I have had to constantly show everyone that I am still worthy of respect. What better way than to hand them their asses on a silver platter?"

"That certainly is one way to do it," Solas conceded, laughing.

"If you two are quite finished," Cassandra interrupted, looking between them with a raised eyebrow, "then Corporal Vale is just up the hill; we need to speak with him."

And just like that, Miir'ven was all business again. "Of course," she said. "Lead the way."

************

Solas was forced to admit that Miir'ven was much more different from the other Dalish. She listened to everyone's concerns, and did what she could to help them. They hunted down extra meat for the refugees at the Crossroads, sought out caches of supplies, wiped out the templar and rogue mage encampments as well as a pack of wolves that had been controlled by demons, and that was all in the first two days. It lifted Solas's spirits-- they'd been flagging with each passing week ever since he woke up, but Miir'ven was slowly restoring his hope. Perhaps the world was worth saving, after all.

Four days after they arrived, they received a message from Leliana: The Mothers were gathering in Val Royeaux, and the Herald was needed. Miir'ven made a face when Leliana referred to her as the Herald, but when questioned, she shrugged. "They've decided that I am the Herald of Andraste, but I don't believe it. I don't even know that I believe in _our_ gods. Still, if it means that I can gain an audience with the Chantry Mothers..."

"Then you must use it," Solas finished for her. "Be confident, but not offensive."

Miir'ven smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Solas; I want you, Cassandra, and Varric to come with me, just in case things go south. I'm sure Leliana has her own people in Val Royeaux, but I want to be safe."

Solas inclined his head. "Of course, lathellin."

************

Things went about as well as they'd expected; Miir'ven had insisted that they were only there to talk peacefully, which the Chantry Mother, Hevara, predictably scoffed at before calling the templars forward. That had been when things took an unexpected turn-- the templars formally removed themselves from the Chantry and from Val Royeaux.

Before they had a chance to investigate, however, two things caught their attention: An arrow containing a message, and a messenger from a Circle with an invitation for Miir'ven. They looked into the arrow-- from the 'Friends of Red Jenny', whatever that may be-- first, which led them to a secluded courtyard and an encounter with an elf who seemed to have a remarkable disregard for her heritage, if the derision with which she announced that Miir'ven was an elf was any indication. Solas did have to admit, however, that stealing the breeches from the reinforces was a genius, if unorthodox, move-- less armor, and the reinforcements were more conservative in their movements, though it didn't help them much. He had a sneaking suspicion that Miir'ven was aiming her blasts of storm magic at their asses on purpose, but it was undeniably entertaining to watch them yelp and jump.

Once the reinforcements were dealt with, Miir'ven spoke with the elf, who called herself Sera. Apparently Sera wanted in with the Inquisition, and after a moment's deliberation Miir'ven welcomed her.

Afterwards, Miir'ven headed for the chateau she'd been invited to; she returned to Haven with another mage, a woman named Vivienne. Solas didn't particularly care for her, but if Miir'ven trusted the woman, then Solas would deal. He didn't hear anything else on the plan for closing the Breach until Miir'ven asked him to accompany her, Cassandra, and another new recruit, Warden Blackwall(although there was something about him that just seemed... Off), to Therinfal Redoubt to attempt to recruit the templars. Solas agreed; he wanted a closer look at the Lord Seeker.

As it turned out, the Lord Seeker was not, in fact, Lord Seeker Lucius, but rather an Envy Demon. After the Demon was defeated, Miir'ven had rounded on the templars, reprimanding them for forgetting their duty, and when they told her they were willing to do whatever the Inquisition needed, Solas had held his breath-- and then promptly let it go when Miir'ven didn't hestitate to conscript the templars, disbanding the Order and absorbing it into the Inquisition's own forces. 

A wise move, in Solas's opinion; the templars had fallen to corruption, not to mention their abyssmal treatment of mages in recent years. The Order may have once served a purpose, but it needed to be rebuilt, and Miir'ven had been right when she'd said there was no time to wait for the Order to rebuild itself. But perhaps the Order could rebuild itself under the eye of the Inquisition; regardless, that was a challenge for after the Breach was dealt with.

While Solas would have preferred working with the mages, he'd not been able to fault the logic-- they did not know how the Breach would react if faced with more power; it was slightly safer to attempt to repress the magic of the Breach itself. Either one would have worked, Solas knew, but he could not tell anyone that, not without looking suspicious.

This time Miir'ven did not pass out, and Haven celebrated-- but not for long. Alarms sounded, and it was all hands on deck to defend Haven as long as they could. But it wasn't enough, and Solas watched with the rest of the refugees as the trebuchet fired, dropping half of the mountain on Haven and burying it-- and their Herald.

************

_I fucking hate snow,_ Miir'ven decided, moving determinedly towards the faint glow of a campfire in the distance. Next time someone else could sacrifice themselves; but that wasn't something she would actually go through with. Corypheus was focused on her, apparently, because of this stolen "Anchor"; he wouldn't care much about anyone else.

The howling of wolves almost made her heart race, but when they kept their distance, she found their presence reassuring instead of frightening. Eventually, Miir'ven managed to reach the ravine she was heading for, following it down until she heard Cullen's relieved shout, followed by Cassandra's, and the elf let herself collapse to the ground, exhausted.

Unfortunately, she didn't get much rest; the rest of the council had started bickering amongst themselves, and Mother Giselle wasn't much help. She explained how Miir'ven's actions had given everyone hope and had seemed to cement in their minds the fact that she was the Herald of Andraste; Miir'ven had spat back that she'd felt no divine presence at either the Breach or Haven. Mother Giselle was stubborn, however, and followed Miir'ven as she limped away before enticing the entire camp into a rendition of some Chantry song; it grated on Miir'ven's nerves.

She welcomed Solas's distraction, following him gratefully. She and the other mage hadn't been able to spend much time together; they were usually too busy fighting, recovering from fighting, or running from bears when they had ventured out together.

Her gaze was drawn to his hips as he walked, loose-limbed and easy over the snow to a lone brazier, lighting it with a wave of his hand. He commented on Mother Giselle's behavior before leading into the real reason he'd asked to speak with her in private. "The orb Corypheus carries is elven in origin," he explained. "It's called a focus; such things were said to channel the power of the ancient elven gods."

Miir'ven sighed. "Of course it's elven," she muttered. Looking to Solas, she continued, "Sooner or later people will find a way to blame elves for this, you know."

Solas inclined his head, conceding the point. "To be above reproach, we must behave impeccably," he agreed. "But now people will begin to place more faith in you, as the perceived Herald of Andraste. The Inquisition will grow, but only so long as it has room to."

Miir'ven frowned. "But where will we go?" she asked. "With Haven destroyed..."

"There is a place to the north," Solas informed her. "Long abandoned, but I believe the Inquisition can make use of it."

"What's this place called?"

"Skyhold."

************

Miir’ven would have been lying had she said that she suspected _something_ was up when Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine all left her alone with Cassandra shortly after they’d arrived at Skyhold. She never would have guessed that they had been conferring on their decision to name her Inquisitor, though; surely Cassandra or Josephine or even Cullen would have been a better choice? They were, after all, human; Miir’ven had difficulty believing that the shemlen would accept her-- a _Dalish mage_ \-- in a position of such power. But they did-- Miir’ven was surprised, but she accepted the honor. “This Inquisition is not a beacon of faith,” she declared, “but one of order-- we will bring order back to Thedas and we will keep it here.” The people gathered in the courtyard of Skyhold had cheered their approval, and Miir’ven had lifted the ceremonial sword high-- despite the fact that it nearly toppled her over the edge of the platform when she did so(who the hell thought it was a good idea to make a sword as long as most elves were tall?!)-- conviction flowing through her.

When the cheering finally died down, Miir’ven led her council into the main hall-- the roof had caved in, and there would need to be quite a lot of repairs, but Skyhold was still impressive, even ruined as it was. They could rebuild it, make it into something even more impressive, something that could convey the importance of the Inquisition and serve as a home to it for as long as it lasted. She could hear the advisors worrying behind her, and after taking a deep breath, the newly-crowned Inquisitor turned to them. “First things first,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, “are we safe here? Cullen?”

The former templar nodded. “Skyhold has the bones to withstand Corypheus as it is-- some more fortifications, and we will be nigh impregnable,” he answered.

”Good,” Miir’ven said, more than a little relieved. “I don’t want a repeat of Haven-- none of us do, I’m sure. The next thing, then, is to decide what we are going to do next. We can’t just sit around and wait for Corypheus to attack again.”

”We can’t,” Leliana agreed, “and we know what Corypheus intends to do next; you uncovered his plans in the Envy Demon’s lair. He intends to have the Empress of Orlais assassinated.”

”And we must stop it,” Cullen concluded.

Miir’ven turned to the ambassador. ”Josephine, you’re the resident expert on Orlesian events-- any idea where he might strike?”

Josephine shook her head. “No, but I have some friends I can contact, to see if there might be anything of particular note happening in the Court. I’ll get started on that right away.”

Miir’ven was cut off from saying the next thing on her mind by Varric’s arrival. “I’ve got a friend who can help with Corypheus himself,” he announced. “Everyone acting all heroic and inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent off a letter; she should be here anytime.”

Miir’ven nodded. “I’m always looking for new allies; introduce us, then.”

Varric glanced around-- probably looking for Cassandra-- before replying, “It’s… probably best that you meet on the battlements, away from everyone else. It’s a long story.”

Miir’ven nodded, and Varric walked away; as soon as he was out of earshot, Leliana mused, “If Varric’s brought who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him.”

************

”Cassandra is going to kill you,” were the first words Miir’ven ever said in the presence of the Champion of Kirkwall. The woman was dark-skinned, with piercing green eyes ringed by blood swipes that blended into the tattoos covering her face.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she asked, amused.

Miir’ven nodded, glancing at Varric, who shrugged-- but looked around guiltily, MIir’ven noted. “Well,” Miir’ven said after a moment, looking back to the woman before her and offering a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

Hawke snorted. “Same here; I have a hard time believing Corypheus is alive. We killed him-- there was practically nothing left of him when we were done.”

”Well, unless everyone experienced the same vivid hallucination…” Miir’ven said, trailing off with a raised eyebrow. Hawke inclined her head, conceding the point.

”I don’t know what to tell you,” she said, leaning against the edge of the battlement. “You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard.”

”I’ve got absolutely no concrete information on him; just his insane ramblings about being one of the magisters who cracked the Golden City and started the Blight,” Miir’ven retorted. “Anything is better than what I’ve got now.”

Hawke sighed. “He’s a darkspawn-- an extremely powerful one-- that much I can tell you. He was able to influence the Grey Wardens who were holding him captive. I always wondered by they were holding him captive instead of simply killing him, but hearing about what he did to Haven…” Hawke sighed. “It makes me wonder just how powerful he really is.”

”I don’t care how powerful he is, we’re going to stop him,” Miir’ven said forcefully.

Hawke studied her for a moment before nodding. “I think you will. You’ve got a good place here, and a good organization going. Better than I did, at any rate-- felt like herding cats half the time.”

Varric laughed. “God, Fenris and Anders were difficult enough to handle on their own,” he chuckled.

”Yes, they were,” Hawke agreed, a small, wistful smile on her face. Then she sobered, looking back to Miir’ven. “I’ve got a friend in the Grey Wardens-- you know that they have vanished?” When the Inquisitor nodded, Hawke continued, “He was worried about corruption in the ranks, and was looking into something for me. He sent me a message telling me that he’s in Crestwood; meet me there, and we can go see him together. He may have more answers about Corypheus, seeing as how he’s one of the senior Wardens.”

Miir’ven nodded. “Thanks, Hawke-- I’ll head there as soon as I can. I’ve got a couple of things to look into first.”

Hawke grinned. “Well, I have to find him, first, so take your time.”

************

”First the Fallow Mire, then this,” Miir’ven grumbled, lighting yet another corpse on fire right as the stupid thing was about to fire an arrow at the back of Blackwall’s head. “Why are they always _archers?_ ”

Solas couldn’t help but laugh, placing a mine behind the other elf in time for one of the few corpses with a sword to step up on it and freeze long enough for Miir’ven to turn around and knock its head off, wielding her staff like a club. “I do not know,” he answered, freezing another corpse for Bull to smash, “but they certainly are annoying.” A loud _crunch_ signalled the destruction of the last corpse, and they all stood in a loose circle, panting.

”You’re telling me,” Blackwall said, removing his helmet to wipe at his neck and face with a scrap of cloth. “Me and Bull are the ones who have to run around after the damned things.”

”I wonder if I can place a ban on people being buried with their weapons,” Miir’ven mused. “Maybe enforce cremation across Thedas. Would make everything a lot less annoying when shit like this happens.”

”Good fucking luck,” Bull snorted, flicking bits of corpse off of his shoulders and stomach. “Some people are too damn lazy, and convince themselves it’ll never happen to them.”

Miir’ven sighed. “You’re right,” she conceded. “Well, let’s fix up Crestwood, at least; c’mon, I think I see the entrance to the flooded caves up that hill behind the mayor’s old house.”

************

”Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” Miir’ven hissed, firing a blast of lightning right in the face of a terror demon that was getting ready to attack her; she scrambled backwards, trying to get enough space to see what the hell was going on-- the cavern they were in wasn’t particularly well-lit, and this rift was more powerful than most; they’d already destroyed three waves of demons. Miir’ven thought this was the last one, but she couldn’t be sure until they managed to get the stupid despair demon killed; they were by far the most annoying, in her opinion. They moved around the battlefield too much, making it difficult for Bull and Blackwall to do anything about them and leaving their destruction mostly up to Miir’ven and Solas. Fortunately a well-aimed blast of fire magic stunned it; while it floated, screaming, Bull lopped its head off, and it disintegrated, the pieces being sucked back into the rift. The rift changed into the distinctive, softer shape that signaled it was ready to be closed, and Miir’ven seized her opportunity, slamming the rift shut.

Once the last bits of green light had winked out of existence, Miir’ven flexed her hand, digging into her palm with her thumb. The anchor always ached a bit after she closed a rift. Solas caught the movement, taking her hand in his and easing her fingers back so that he could massage her palm gently. Miir’ven swallowed, glancing up from Solas’s skilled fingers to meet the other mage’s gentle expression. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Solas smiled, just a small uptick in the corner of his mouth, but a smile nonetheless. “You are welcome,” he returned, finishing with the impromptu massage and slowly-- reluctantly, it almost seemed, and Miir’ven hoped she was not reading the situation wrong-- releasing her hand. Miir’ven took it back just as slowly-- and then jumped at least three feet in the air when Bull pointedly cleared his throat behind them. 

”If you two are done, how about we get out of the creepy caverns and go tell the Mayor the rift’s gone?” he suggested, his tone fondly amused.

Miir’ven felt the tips of her ears heat. “Of course,” she mumbled, not looking at Solas as she led the way out of the cavern. “Come on; I felt a draft from this direction when we came in.”

************

Returning to the surface had revealed clear skies, and the return to New Crestwood revealed the mayor’s treachery. Furious at the thought of what the mayor had done-- though she could understand his reasoning; there was no cure for the Blight, after all-- Miir’ven had tersely ordered her companions to move out to meet up with Hawke, who’d sent a message with the location of where her Warden friend was hiding. He had some revelations for them, which Miir’ven mused on the entire journey back to Skyhold; once there, the mage was distracted by Josephine’s announcement that specialists had been found for her-- speaking with them decided Miir’ven on the path of the Knight Enchanter; she didn’t like staying distanced from her companions in a fight. She’d gathered plenty of Ring Velvet from the Fallow Mire, and a bit of reconnaissance revealed deposits of Lazurite in the Hissing Wastes that Cullen could have mined; she read up on the methods from some books borrowed from Vivienne, but the last material she needed was three Wisp Essences. Research indicated that they only came from Pure Wisps, which were oddly attracted to places where the undead were common. Which meant they’d be traveling to the Fallow Mire once again-- lovely.

************

” _Shit!_ Miir’ven yelped, rolling out of the way of an outraged Bogfisher-- it had gotten hit by a stray wisp blast, and had decided to join in on the fight. Luckily there weren’t anymore around; Miir’ven caught Bull’s eye and waved frantically at the Bogfisher. “Keep it occupied!” she ordered. “Solas and I have the wisps. You and Blackwall get that damned thing!” Bull nodded, and Miir’ven turned back to her target with a determined expression on her face; this was the last Pure Wisp she needed to kill, and she was going to do it, dammit. At least they’d get a bit of dinner out of the Bogfisher. “Stupid freaking wisps,” she muttered, slamming the butt of her staff into the ground and calling forth her lightning magic, watching it arc from one wisp to another, striking all three left-- including the Pure Wisp. A few more hits took out the two regular wisps, and then Solas and Miir’ven were free to focus all of their combined energies on the last wisp, soon overwhelming its defenses and leaving only a pile of dust behind. Miir’ven scooped it into the container with the other essences, breathing heavily. “Thank the gods this is done,” she muttered.

”Little help over here!” Blackwall called, the shout followed by a pained shout and a _thud_.

”Or maybe not.”

************

The spirit blade wasn’t too difficult to craft and enchant, and when Miir’ven presented it to Commander Helaine, the other elf had looked it over critically before pronouncing it “passable” and beginning to teach Miir’ven the way of the Knight Enchanter. They still had not heard back from Hawke and Stroud, who were scouting the Western Approach for the ritual tower Stroud suspected the Wardens were gathering at, and Miir’ven soon grew bored of practicing her new skills-- the spirit blade was certainly handy, especially considering it cut through armor as if it were never there in the first place, and the glyph she’d learned that would enable her to protect and heal her companions for a limited amount of time would also be extraordinarily helpful, but the rest of them, while useful in their own way, were not the best tools Miir’ven could imagine for her job. Still, she didn’t complain during training, and she made sure to practice each and every skill diligently until she was proficient at them; but when that had happened and there was still no word from Hawke and Stroud, Miir’ven grew bored and impatient. Eventually this led to her bugging each of her companions in turn, until they eventually got tired of her pestering them and kicked her out of their respective nook or cranny. Solas was the only one who didn’t, answering her questions about the Fade and himself patiently.

One day, he suggested that they take their conversation to someplace more interesting than Skyhold. Raising an eyebrow, Mir’ven agreed to go with him.

************

They ended up in Haven, and for the moment, Miir’ven did not wonder about that. Instead, she simply followed Solas as he walked from the Chantry towards the small ledge that overlooked most of the small town. “You should not have survived being thrown physically into the Fade,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. “No mortal should have.”

Miir’ven hummed thoughtfully, then glanced to her left hand. “Corypheus called this mark an Anchor,” she mused. “Perhaps that is its purpose: to control the Fade, to open the veil so that people may enter it in the flesh.”

Solas looked at Miir’ven for a moment, expression unreadable. “That is quite the educated guess,” he said after a moment. “And I believe you may be correct.” Miir’ven smiled at him, and Solas continued, “I had not been able to find any magic able to affect the Breach or the rifts it had produced-- and just when I was ready to flee, to give up… You came. You sealed the rift with a simple gesture, even unsure as you were about the mark.”

Miir’ven’s expression clouded, twisting into a frown. “You guided it,” she remembered. “the mark. I didn’t do anything; it was your magic I felt, directing the mark’s power.”

Solas was visibly startled by her announcement. “How would you--”

Miir’ven’s frown deepened, her brow furrowing, as she fought to remember. “It felt… foreign, yet familiar. But it wasn’t my own power. It was an outside force-- just like you lifted my hand, or as a soldier would guide a sword, something guided the power of the mark. It had to have been you; I feel the same presence each time you cast a spell.”

Still shaken, Solas stared at Miir’ven for a moment. “I did use some magic, yes,” he conceded eventually. “But I cannot imagine why my magic would feel familiar to you.”

Miir’ven shook her head slowly. “I can’t imagine, either,” she murmured, confusion evident in her tone. She looked to Solas, then. “Forgive me, I don’t think you brought me here to ponder more upon my mark.”

At that, Solas’s own troubled expression cleared, to reveal one of fondness; it damn near took Miir’ven’s breath away. “I did not,” he agreed. “I brought you here to tell you that-- for me-- you changed everything. I was ready to run, and instead I followed you. I saw you seal that first rift, and the second, and I felt the whole world change.”

Miir’ven felt a small, shy smile steal across her face. “You felt the whole world change?”

Solas’s pale skin flushed slightly. “A metaphor.”

”I’m familiar with the metaphor,” Miir’ven dismissed, stepping closer to the older elf. “What I’m interested in is the ‘felt’ part.”

Solas’s lips curved in a soft-- almost resigned-- smile as he confessed, “You change… everything.”

Miir’ven chuckled. “Sweet talker,” she murmured. Solas chuckled as well, starting to turn away-- and Miir’ven followed her gut, reaching out and turning him back towards her so that she could slot her lips over his. It felt like coming home, the kiss. It was brief, almost innocent, and she was the one to break it, stepping away and looking to the side, slightly embarrassed. Solas, apparently, didn’t want to let her go too far, for he reached out and turned her back, this time, reeling her in for a kiss that made her toes curl into the snow beneath her feet. She grasped his shoulders, kneading slightly as she returned the kiss enthusiastically. Solas pulled back, then dipped in for another, much briefer kiss, before stepping away, his hands curling into fists at his side, his expression tight. “We shouldn’t,” he said, too late. “It isn’t right. Not even here, where we--”

”Solas, what are you--” Miir’ven started to ask, before realization struck. They were in the Fade. “Solas--”

” _Wake up._ ”

************

Miir’ven woke in her own bed with a gasp, her chest aching-- but her head did not, unlike the other times she’d tried to enter the Fade in her sleep. It took her a moment to remember where, exactly, she was, and when she did she threw one of her extra pillows across the room(she missed the wall she’d been aiming at, and watched in dismay as it sailed over the railing of the balcony. Dammit, she’d liked that pillow.). “Dammit, Solas!”

************

Miir’ven stomped down the stairs and through the main hall-- everyone who saw her coming hastened to get out of her way. She lnoticed Varric looking at her with a startled expression as she stormed past him, but she threw the door shut behind her as she strode into Solas’s quarters. “You owe me a new pillow, you bastard,” she huffed.

Solas looked startled, though he had to have been expecting her to come see him. “I’m… sorry?”

”What was that?” she demanded. “I’ve never done anything like that.” Yet even as the words slipped from her mouth, something deep inside her whispered that she _had_ , that she had met with someone in the Fade, that she’d shared dreams with another, she just couldn’t remember. Angrily, Miir’ven told the little voice inside her head to fuck off.

Solas looked calmer now, though his expression was regretful. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of his mouth, and boy, this conversation was _not_ going to go well, Miir’ven could feel it already. “The kiss was impulsive, and irresponsible. I shouldn’t have let it go so far.”

Miir’ven was brought up short by a sudden thought. “Solas, if I misread the situation…”

”No!” Solas said, too quickly to be casual. He seemed to realize this, and attempted to collect himself. “No, you have no need to apologize. I am the elder here, I shouldn’t have--”

Oh, that burned. “That doesn’t matter!” Miir’ven snapped. “I am almost three decades old, Solas-- I can damned well take responsibilty for my actions. I am of age, and capable of making my own decisions. So don’t you fucking dare try to say that whatever happened-- and I’m _still_ not sure exactly what happened-- was all your fault, because if I’m remembering right, _I_ was the one to instigate that first kiss!”

”Miir’ven, there is more going on than I think you realize--” Solas tried to say, but Miir’ven cut him off.

”Like _what_?” she demanded. “The giant ancient darkspawn hellbent on destroying the world as we know it? The fact that, somehow, you managed to help me enter the Fade without it splitting my skull open like it’s done every time I’ve attempted it on my own? I’m a grown-ass woman, Solas, and fuck you for thinking otherwise!”

Miir’ven turned and stomped out of the rotunda, furious; she had to get out of there before she did something stupid, like fry Solas with a bolt of lightning or attempt to kiss him again(although, to be fair, the former was incredibly unlikely. Her… Keeper had trained her too well to lose control of her magic.).

************

Solas watched Miir’ven go, feeling rather like he’d just been slapped with a fish(which, ironically enough, Miir’ven had done to him before. Inadvertently while they had been fishing one day, but still.). He’d not expected that much vehemence from her, although in retrospect it was not undeserved. That had not been fair-- to either of them-- to take a taste of what could not be; what could never be. Not even should she learn of who he was-- who he _really_ was. No matter what Miir’ven said, he was the one who should be blamed; he knew who Miir’ven was, what they were to each other, but she had no idea. No idea whatsoever-- at best, should she regain the memories stolen from her by the Breach, she would remember him-- would _recognize_ him-- as Fen’Harel. But he had never told her why she’d been able to join his dreams-- indeed, why she had been able to even find him in the first place, why the first time she’d awoken in the Fade she’d been by his side.

She did not know that she was his-- and that he was hers just as surely. That their souls had been crafted for one another and would always find each other.

Solas gave her time before he sought her out, not sure what he would say, but needing to speak to her anyway. He found the woman on the battlements, looking out over the winding road that led to Skyhold’s gate; even still, people trickled in, pledging themselves to the Inquistion-- to the Inquisitor. Solas stopped a few feet away. “The Inquisition grows daily,” he said, nodding to the view.

Miir’ven’s shoulders rose and then fell in a sigh. “More people looking to me,” she muttered. “Looking to the _Herald of Andraste._ ” She turned to Solas then. “I must apologize; I acted childish earlier.”

Solas shook his head. “No, I must apologize. I was treating you as a child.” _You are, compared to me. To what I’ve seen, done, and lived._ “I had no right to, I am sorry.”

Miir’ven offered him a small smile, just a quirk of the lips. Then she straightened, looking at him with a determined expression on her face. “If you do not want a relationship between us, then I will not push the matter,” she promised.

Part of Solas-- the part of him that had been lonely for more years than he could count-- wanted to reject her offer, to take _her_ , but the greater part reminded him that it would be fair to neither of them. So, as much as it pained him to say it, the words still fell from his lips: “I believe that would be best.”

************

That didn’t magically make everything better between them-- for a few months, Miir’ven didn’t go out on expeditions with him, and Solas pretended he didn’t see the calculating looks that Leliana sent him occasionally when they crossed paths. In fact, Solas didn’t hear from Miir’ven until after she, Sera, Blackwall, and Bull returned from the Western Approach with news of the Grey Wardens’ plans. Miir’ven approached him in the rotunda; dimly, Solas was aware of Dorian not-so-subtly leaning against the banister overhead. 

”I need someone with knowledge of the Fade,” she said, her voice not flat, but it certainly didn’t carry the easy friendliness it had before. “I don’t know how big of a rift they have at Adamant Fortress, or what kind of demons they’ll be summoning, so I need you.”

Solas told himself that he was just imagining the resentfulness of that last bit; he was, he knew, but that didn’t make it hurt less. This whole situation would have been less awkward and painful if he _didn’t_ care for Miir’ven, or if she knew everything that he did, or if… If it wasn’t the situation that it was.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Solas nodded. “I’ll gather my things; when are we leaving for Adamant?”

”As soon as Josephine gets hold of some sappers.”

************

Solas shared Hawke’s feelings about blood magic-- he had used it himself, but only once. It haunted him every day. But these people, these warriors who were supposed to _protect_ this world, seemed to have no such compunctions as the Inquisitor and her companions fought their way through the fortress. At one point, Miir’ven told a group of Wardens who had not been enslaved to just stay out of their way; they were here for Clarel, and had no interest in killing Wardens. Solas didn’t quite agree with that-- his anger was making it hard for him to control his power, to make himself remain the slightly-above-average apostate he’d been playing this entire time-- but he said nothing, choosing instead to simply follow Miir’ven through the battle to the main courtyard, where an enormous rift with an even bigger demon on the other side was waiting for them.

Miir’ven and Blackwall managed to convince those Wardens not already dead or enslaved to stand down, but that only served to infuriate the Tevinter magister, Erimond, who Solas assumed was the instigator of this whole mess. He summoned the dragon responsible for the loss of Haven, and then they were off, fighting once more to reach Clarel in time-- they barely missed, and the next thing Solas knew, they were falling.

************

Solas woke in the Fade-- the Fade as he had not seen it since he first created the Veil. Behind him, everyone else was arguing, shouting over one another as they tried to decide what to do, but all Solas could see was the ruined husk in the distance-- what remained of Arlathan, the greatest city of ancient times. The city he once lived in with his family, where they were first worshipped as gods.

He didn’t hear Miir’ven’s approach; didn’t realize that she’d come to stand beside him until her hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Solas?” she questioned, her voice and expression genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”

Solas glanced from the city to her, and then back. “It’s almost close enough to touch,” he said, his voice pained as he took in the sight of his ruined home. “Ar-- The Black City.”

Miir’ven’s expression turned sympathetic, and she gave Solas’s shoulder a slight squeeze before turning back towards the others. “Come on,” she announced, starting towards a set of stairs. “We’re sitting ducks if we stay here; better keep moving.”

************

The spirit of the Divine-- or the spirit mimicking the Divine; it didn’t really matter at the moment-- helped Miir’ven recover her memories. It had been a shock to see the Divine waiting for them at the top of that first flight of stairs, but as Miir’ven regained her memories, she found herself grateful-- she had always known that the mark upon her palm could not be a gift from some shemlen deity, and she was comforted, in fact, by the knowledge that it had been granted by an elven god’s focus. It made her feel closer to her people.

A curious side effect was the dull throbbing that had been in the back of her mind since waking up physically in the Fade for the second time was slowly disappearing-- as if, with the reclaiming of her memories, her connection to the Fade was being repaired from when it had been strained. Perhaps, when it took her memories, the Nightmare Demon had inadvertently fractured that connection, too.

She didn’t have much time to muse on it as they walked; they ran into more demons and darkspawn in the Fade-- and the first time a fearling had nearly landed on her head, Miir’ven was not ashamed to admit that she had _shrieked_ at the top of her lungs and lashed out instinctually with fire. She was fine with spiders-- most of the time. But these things… They spoke to her, pulled on her mind, _whispered_ just low enough that she couldn’t hear what they were saying.

In short, they freaked her out.

But the giant figure they fought in front of the rift that would send them back to the real world didn’t freak her out; no, it _pissed her off._ Her blade was constantly powered as she whirled and slashed, lashing out with lightning and refreshing the barriers around her companions as often as she could, to help minimize the damage they took. When they had defeated the aspect of the Nightmare, they all sprinted for the rift, Miir’ven, Hawke, and Stroud taking up the rear-- only to be separated from the others by the Nightmare Demon itself blocking their path. Agonized, Miir’ven knew that someone was going to have to be left behind.

************

_Come on, come on, come on,_ Solas thought, desperately watching the rift. It couldn’t end like this, not after everything they’d been through-- not with everything Solas still needed to tell Miir’ven.

There was a ripple of murmurs among the gathered soldiers as the rift pulsed, and Hawke leapt out-- followed by Miir’ven. Solas let out a breath he hadn’t quite realized that he’d been holding. “Miir’ven,” he called, and the Inquisitor gave him a brief smile before turning to the assembled Wardens.

Inevitably, someone asked what should be done with the Wardens, and Solas held his breath again, waiting as Miir’ven debated. “You may stay in Orlais,” she said after a moment. “You are still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly his Venatori, but the world still needs the Grey Wardens. You will be kept under close watch, but the Inquisition would welcome your help.”

The reaction to Miir’ven’s announcement was mixed, but no one dared comment, not now.

************

There were plenty of comments when Miir’ven got back to Skyhold-- the companions and advisors had met in the War Room, and the reaction seemed pretty mixed-- half and half. Miir’ven let them shout and argue with each other for a few moments before she slammed her hand on the war table, summoning a touch of storm magic so that the sound she made sounded like a thunderclap. “ _Enough!_ ” she roared. “ _I_ am the Inquisitor-- a decision which was made by _you!_ You chose me because I had been trying to do what was best for Thedas, and that is all I will continue to do! Yes, the Grey Wardens were tricked-- but can we honestly blame them? They were doing only what they thought they must to accomplish the same goal _we_ have-- the goal they have had for _ages_ : to protect Thedas. I will _not_ condemn them for an honest mistake!” Incensed, Miir’ven rounded on Blackwall. “How long does a Warden have after they first hear the Calling?” she demanded.

Startled, Blackwall took a moment to think before responding, “It varies from Warden to Warden, but usually they only have a few months.”

Miir’ven turned back to the rest of the assembled companions, eyebrows raised. “You hear that? A few _months_. The Wardens thought they were all dying, and they _knew_ that the Blights weren’t over-- Blights are started when an Old God is corrupted, and there have not been enough Blights to have killed off all of the Old Gods,” she hissed. “So they fucking _panicked_. Can you blame them? For centuries, their only purpose has been to protect Thedas from the Blight, and they all thought they would be gone in a few months. So, yes, Erimond’s plan was insane, and they were hearing a false Calling-- _but that is not their fault._ I have to put what’s best for Thedas ahead of _any_ of your opinion’s. Like it or not, _we need the Grey Wardens._ So you can all just suck it up and deal with my decision, because I will _not_ allow Thedas to fall to a Blight after we save it from Corypheus because there is no one else to kill an Archdemon, which-- so far as we and all lore know-- is the _only_ way to end a Blight!”

There was a stunned silence, and Miir’ven took a deep breath before adding, “You all are my inner circle-- more than that, you are my friends, my _family_ , just as much as my Clan is. I need your support, and your advice-- but I cannot have any dissent. Please; I cannot do this alone.”

The gathered companions exchanged a collective glance, and Solas was the first to step forward. “I am sorry, Miir’ven,” he said, inclining his head. “You are correct; until we can find another way to end the Blight, we need the Wardens. But above that, we must support you.”

Miir’ven gave Solas a tired smile as the others echoed their agreement. “Thank you,” she said quietly-- privately, just for him.

************

That night, Miir’ven entered the Fade on her own for the first time since the Breach. She woke in a place that seemed familiar-- and the reason for it hit when she caught sight of an enormous six-eyed wolf. “Fen’Harel,” she breathed, taking a step towards the wolf. “I-- I _remember_!” she cried, suddenly ecstatic. Fen’Harel seemed to grin at her, and Miir’ven gave an excited squeal, rushing forward to throw her arms around his neck. “I remember everything now-- I couldn’t even remember what I’d done in the Fade before the Breach, I think the Nightmare Demon took those memories, too, by accident, but I remember now, and-- I missed you,” she confessed. “I missed you so much, and I didn’t even know who I was missing.”

Fen’Harel nuzzled into Miir’ven’s neck for a moment before pulling back. “I missed you, too,” he answered. “But you are back-- and you have made such progress. I knew you were meant for great things.”

Miir’ven smiled, giving Fen’Harel a gentle scratch under the chin. “It’s hard,” she admitted. “I never wanted to be anyone seriously important, but... “ She sighed. “How could I abandon the world I live in? I couldn’t just leave it to burn.”

Fen’Harel nudged her hand. “I am glad you didn’t. And now that you remember, I will always be here to guide you, and to listen. You have my word.”

Miir’ven couldn’t help but chuckle. “Most elves wouldn’t trust your word,” she said with a grin.

Fen’Harel barked out a laugh. “But you are not most elves, are you?”

************

Solas approached Miir’ven the next day, asking for her help-- a friend of his was in trouble, he said. He pointed out a location in the Exalted Plains, and they set out immediately. What they found horrified Miir’ven; a spirit had been summoned and bound, twisted into a Pride Demon. Solas panicked briefly, but when Miir’ven suggested taking out the pillars binding the spirit, he agreed, and the party split up to attack the pillars. When the last one had fallen, the spirit was freed-- but it was near-gone, and begged for Solas to send it on. He agreed, and Miir’ven offered him comfort; before he could accept it, a group of mages appeared, the ones responsible for binding the spirit. Solas turned on them, railing and yelling, and Miir’ven hastened to pull him back; the look he gave her when she did so almost frightened Miir’ven. He looked… wolf-ish.

Still, she managed to convince Solas to leave the mages be, convinced that they had been frightened enough to last them the rest of their lives, and Solas ended up storming off. Miir’ven and her company returned to Skyhold, where Miir’ven proceeded to worry about Solas until she was informed by one of Leliana’s agents that he was coming back; she rushed to meet him, barely resisting throwing herself at him in a hug. Instead, she resigned herself to asking after him, and reminding him that he wasn’t alone, now; he didn’t need to grieve alone.

************

Shortly after that, the Inquisition went to Halamshiral, and Solas truly enjoyed watching Miir’ven charm the Imperial Court, playing the Game as if she’d been born to it. And at the end of the night, Solas was a bit shocked that Miir’ven had chosen to sacrifice the Empress-- but when Gaspard glowered at the elven Ambassador Briala, he realized what she must have done, and it made sense. When Miir’ven disappeared onto the balcony after the speech, Solas followed. He ran into the witch, Morrigan, on his way, and he gave her a suspicious look before continuing on his way. 

Miir’ven was bracing herself against the railing of the balcony, and Solas let himself approach her quietly, resting a hand on her lower back. “Is everything okay?” he asked quietly.

She sighed. “I can’t help but think that maybe sacrificing the Empress was the wrong choice,” she confessed, turning so that she was leaning mostly on one elbow. “I keep thinking, maybe I could have made it work…”

Solas let his hand drift up to cup her neck, thumbing over the skin just under her ear. “Maybe you could have, but this is the decision you made. Now, you must live with it, and make the best of the situation.”

Miir’ven smiled reluctantly, leaning into his touch. “Always the practical one,” she murmured. “Thank you, Solas.”

Solas ached with the sudden desire to hear her call him ‘Fen’Harel’ in this world, not only the Fade, but forced the thought from his mind; the sound of a waltz caught his attention, and Solas smiled, moving a few steps away from Miir’ven before bending at the waist, tucking one hand behind his back, offering the other to her with a smile. “Before the band stops playing for the night, would you honor me with a dance?”

Miir’ven’s smile was dazzling. “I’d love to.”

************

When they returned to Skyhold that night, Solas made to head to his own quarters, but was stopped by Miir’ven’s hand grasping his wrist. “Can I talk to you?” she asked, almost shyly.

Curious, Solas ignored the voice in his head telling him that he shouldn’t follow her, shouldn’t accept her offer. He nodded, following Miir’ven up the stairs to her quarters. Once there, Miir’ven dropped his hand, heading for the balcony. Solas followed, hesitating in the doorway. “Miir’ven?”

The woman turned, her expression uncertain. “Solas, I-- I said I wouldn’t push, if you didn’t want a relationship, but…”

Solas felt his heart clench in his chest. “But?”

Miir’ven worried her lower lip for a moment before blurting, “But you’ve been acting like you do.” Her expression was pained. “It’s… confusing.”

Solas swallowed, guilt swamping him as he stepped forward. “I am sorry for confusing you,” he said sincerely. “I-- It truly would be better if we did not enter a relationship.”

This time, it was Miir’ven’s turn to prompt, “But?”

Solas sighed, touching his forehead to hers. “But I… cannot be that selfless. I want you, Miir’ven. I should not, but… There it is. I am weak.”

Miir’ven pulled back, shaking her head furiously. “You are _not_ weak,” she argued. “Especially not for wanting someone. That does not make you weak.”

Solas supposed he should try to speak, to reason with Miir’ven-- and himself-- to dissuade them from this path, but he was so damned _tired_ of denying himself. He lunged forward, capturing Miir’ven’s mouth in a bruising kiss; she was caught off-guard, but only for a moment before she was kissing him back just as desperately. One hand drifted down to Miir’ven’s thigh, and she seemed to take that as a cue to jump up slightly, wrapping her legs around his waist. Solas let himself support her with a hand on her rear, walking them backwards so that he could drop to her bed; as soon as his back hit the mattress, Miir’ven began scrabbling at his clothes, popping off a couple of the buttons. Solas was fine with that, seeing as how turnabout was fair play as he popped some of her buttons off in his haste to remove her own clothes.

”Gods, I never thought--” Miir’ven panted, finally wrestling his shirt off. “Never thought I’d get this.”

Solas swallowed down his response, instead leaning up to kiss her as he pushed her own shirt off, then slipped her pants off as she did the same to him. He took a moment to admire her, silhouetted in the moonlight as she straddled him, before he wrapped an arm around her waist and rolled them, grateful for the large bed Josephine had ordered for Miir’ven. “ _You’re beautiful,_ ” he murmured in the ancient tongue, slipping-- but Miir’ven didn’t notice anything, which Solas should have found odd, but couldn’t bring himself to care about. “ _A beauty I’ve never seen before, not even in Arlathan._ ” 

” _Solas,_ ” Miir’ven gasped, arching into his touch as Solas tongued a path from her jaw, down her throat and between her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over it as he bit down lightly, his other hand rising to toy with her other breast. The sounds coming from above his head were delicious, and Solas could have kicked himself for denying them both this for so long-- but those were thoughts he could not linger on, not now when he had a job to do. He switched breasts, giving the other one the same treatment with his mouth and tongue as he had the other while he let one hand skim lightly down Miir’ven’s body, tracing a path to the join of her thigh. Solas’s name-- his alibi-- became a plea, then, when before it had been a breathless prayer. He listened and obeyed, letting his hand smooth over her mound, toying gently with the curls he felt there. He allowed one finger to dip into her folds, finding her wet, almost _dripping_ for him. He spread the slick around, wetting her folds more thoroughly before skating his finger over the hard bud hidden among her folds; he was rewarded with a pleasured shout, Miir’ven’s body arching off of the bed and into his hand.

Smirking slightly to himself, Solas abandoned her breasts to replace his hand with his mouth; he spread her legs, then used his thumbs to pull apart her folds, baring her to his gaze-- and truly, he thought he’d never seen anything more enticing. He leaned in, inhaling deeply, and thought to himself that he could easily become addicted to her scent-- to her, if he were to be totally honest with himself. But now it was Miir’ven’s turn, and he slowly dragged his tongue flat against her, gathering her taste on his tongue before flicking his tongue against her clit. The elven woman’s body jolted, and Solas grinned before setting to his task, driving her to the edge with his tongue-- and occasionally, a light scrape of his teeth. It didn’t take long, he found, before her fingers were slipping against his scalp, trying to find something to hold on to and failing as she writhed under his ministrations. Solas shifted slightly, bringing one hand so that he could strum his thumb over her clit while he used his tongue on the rest of her, working her closer and closer to the edge until she fell, her thighs clamping about his head while her back arched, her breath stuttering in her throat.

Solas carefully worked her through it before lifting himself up, moving to take her lips in a kiss; Miir’ven hummed at her taste on his lips, one of her hands sliding down over Solas’s shoulder and down his back before curving around his hip and further inward until she was curling her hand in a loose fist around his cock. “I think it’s your turn, now,” she murmured, giving him a long, slow stroke that made Solas shudder.

”That’s not--” Solas choked on his words when Miir’ven wrapped her legs around his hips again, using the hand around his cock to guide his tip to her entrance. Solas forced his hips still, searching Miir’ven’s gaze insistently. “You’re sure?” he asked, uncertain as to what he’d rather the answer be.

Miir’ven grinned, slow and sure as she used her free hand to tug him down into a kiss. “I’m sure,” she murmured, rolling her hips and edging him closer to her. “C’mon, Solas-- I want you in me.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Solas gave in, rolling his hips in a long, smooth motion, carefully pressing into Miir’ven-- he knew this was her first time, and he wanted this to be good for her. He paused when she seemed uncomfortable, giving her time to adjust before pressing further. When he was fully seated, he paused again, bracing himself on one arm above her, the both of them breathing heavily. He leaned in, tucking a kiss against the corner of her mouth. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Miir’ven hummed, squirming slightly. “Feels nice,” she decided after a moment, smiling up at him. “I’m good.”

Solas returned the smile, ducking his head for a proper kiss. “Then hold on,” he murmured against her mouth. His first few thrusts were slow, careful, making sure that she wasn’t in any pain-- but she let him know what she thought of that, growling and nipping at his lower lip before rolling her hips to meet his. After that, Solas let himself go, thrusting freely into her, shifting slightly until he hit the spot he was looking for, the spot that made Miir’ven’s whole body clench, her mouth dropping open in pleasure. He aimed for that spot, hitting it as often as he could as he drove into her, actually sliding them both up the bed until Miir’ven had to brace against the headboard to keep from banging her head.

Miir’ven’s cries suddenly escalated, and her nails dug into Solas’s shoulder. “Solas, Solas, please-- I’m so close, please, I just, I need--”

Solas hushed her with a kiss, dropping one hand between them to find her clit, working it-- working _her_ \-- until she was coming, body clenching around him, milking him until he was coming as well, hips jerking as he emptied himself in her; he managed to roll them to their sides, his cock slipping from her as it softened. They were both breathing heavily, and sweaty, and Solas couldn’t bring himself to regret giving in to his-- their-- desires. He brushed Miir’ven’s hair out of her face, and she gave him a small smile. 

” _I have never felt this way about someone before,_ ” Solas murmured, tracing a small pattern onto Miir’ven’s cheek.

Miir’ven sighed happily, squirming closer. “ _Nor I,_ ” she whispered back, and Solas jolted slightly-- he had never taught her the ancient tongue; how could she have responded?

He was distracted by Miir’ven’s head landing on his shoulder; she gave a contented sigh, her arms wrapping around him as her breathing evening out into sleep.

Solas swallowed, letting his own arms hold her close; he would need to tell her soon. He couldn’t let this continue without the truth being revealed.

************

Miir’ven debated for a while the next morning about whether or not to address the fact that they’d had sex-- no, that they’d _made love_ , and that Solas had not been there when she’d woken up. On the one hand, she had sort of expected that, since it would have been odd for him to be seen leaving her quarters in the morning. But on the other, she’d hoped that he would at least wake her up to let her know that he was going. In the end, she decided that her decision was not to make a decision; she needed to talk to her advisors, to plan the next attack on Corypheus. The Inquisitor told herself that she’d talk to Solas after that.

But she was kept busy for several days, planning the attack on the Arbor Wilds, and had no time to speak with Solas beyond the occasional question about Eluvians, and asking him to accompany her, along with Blackwall and Bull, to the Arbor Wilds for this final assault on Corypheus. Solas had accepted, but Miir’ven couldn’t help but feel like there was a… tension that hadn’t been there before the Winter Palace. 

************

The night before they were due to leave, Miir’ven entered the Fade, looking for her wolf-- she found him, and couldn’t help but feel relieved. At least with Fen’Harel, she knew where she stood. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, coming to sit next to the wolf where he lay on the bank of a stream. “I could use a friend.”

Fen’Harel looked at her questioningly. “What do you mean?”

Miir’ven sighed. “I think I am in love,” she confessed. “But I… do not know how he feels. We slept together, and I have been busy since, and we have not spoken, but before that… He had told me that he did not believe it wise to pursue a relationship.”

The Dread Wolf was oddly silent before asking, “What is this man’s name?”

Miir’ven gave him a sideways look. “You’re not planning on tormenting him, are you?” she asked after a moment, earning a startled laugh from the wolf beside her.

”No,” he answered, tongue lolling slightly in a grin. “No, I am not. I am merely curious.”

Miir’ven snorted, but answered his question nonetheless. “His name is Solas; he studied the Fade for many years, and knows more about it than anyone else I know, except for you.”

Fen’Harel was quiet for a moment, then questioned, “You said you are in love with him?”

Miir’ven sighed. “I do not know for sure, but I think I might be,” she replied, looking to the water of the stream before her, Solas’s face coming into view. “I know that I care for him, and that making love with him was unlike anything I have ever experienced before. I value his opinion, an dhis friendship-- I value _him_.”

Fen’Harel mulled over her words before offering, “Tell him how you feel, when the opportunity presents itself. His answer may surprise you.”

Miir’ven shook her head, tucking her knees up to her chest. “If the opportunity presents itself,” she murmured.

They stayed in silence for a while, but eventually Fen’Harel was the first to break it. “Miir’ven,” he said, one of the rare times he’d used her name. “I… have something to confess.”

That caught the elf’s attention, and she looked up sharply, a quizzical expression on her face. “What is it?”

The wolf heaved a sigh before he answered. “I have not told you all the truth. I cannot tell you it now, but I want you to know that I will tell you it soon-- but what I will tell you, while important, _never_ endangered you.”

Considering that this was the Trickster beside her, Miir’ven was not surprised to learn that he had hidden things from her, but she trusted him when he said that he never put her in danger. She considered her response for several moments, eventually deciding on, “Thank you, for telling me.”

They sat in silence until it was time for Miir’ven to wake up.

************

Miir’ven, Blackwall, Solas, Bull, and Morrigan fought their way through Red Templars and Venatori, and eventually found themselves before the Temple of Mythal-- where Corypheus was killed and then came back to life, taking the body of a dead Warden. In the courtyard, Morrigan attempted to dazzle the Inquisitor with her knowledge of ancient text-- but Miir’ven simply gave her an unimpressed look, translating the stone before them; this mention of the Well of Sorrows, and a price to be paid worried her. But she pushed it aside for now; they needed to stop Calpernia.

After defeating the Venatori that Calpernia had sent after them, they rushed to the hole, but Miir’ven stopped her companions before they could follow Calpernia. “Wait; this is a temple. It is sacred ground; if I’m right, that door behind us will lead us to where we need to be.”

”There are soldiers out there dying,” Bull argued.

”There’d be soldiers out there dying if we follow Calpernia,” Miir’ven snapped back. “There are rituals to follow, that will open the door-- the same as the one that let us into this temple in the first place. We don’t know what lies under this temple, but I can tell you that if we follow the rites of petition, that door will open, and we just might beat Calpernia to the Well. But if we follow her, we won’t.”

Bull opened his mouth to argue-- but then closed it. “Fine,” he muttered. “Lead on to the fancy steps.”

The rites turned out to be fairly simple, and it didn’t take Miir’ven long to solve them, a bell chiming after each ritual was completed. Sure enough, when they emerged back on the landing, the door-- previously sealed with a barrier-- was open, and they rushed for it, precious seconds ticking by.

The door led to a large chamber, and the party slowed, looking around; a sudden prickle at the back of her neck warned Miir’ven that they were not alone. “Who’s there?”

An elf appeared at the top of the ledge before them, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore the vallaslin of Mythal; as, Miir’ven noticed, did the other elves around them. “I am Abelas, and we are the Sentinels, set to guard this place against all invaders. Yet you are not like the others; you followed the rites of petition, and have shown respect to Mythal.”

Miir’ven inclined her head. “This is sacred ground, and we wish to give no offense. We are here only to stop Calpernia and Corypheus from gaining the Well of Sorrows. We do not seek it for ourselves.” Miir’ven ignored Morrigan’s whispering, instead keeping her gaze focused on the elf.

Abelas mulled over her words before nodding slightly. “I believe you. I will have one of our elves guide you through the temple-- but in return, you must not interfere with the Well. It is not for anyone of mortal life-- and certainly not for one already bound to another god.”

Miir’ven stiffened at his last words; how could he tell that she had sworn her loyalty to Fen’Harel-- no one knew that. But she bore no vallaslin; there couldn’t be a way to tell. Still, she nodded. “We are here only to stop Calpernia,” she repeated.

”Good. The Well will not fall into mortal hands, even if I have to destroy it myself.” With that, he turned-- and Morrigan leapt forward with a shout, transforming into a raven before Miir’ven could stop her.

”Shit,” Miir’ven breathed. A snapped order caught her attention; another Sentinel was waiting by a newly-opened door.

” _Come_ ,” she ordered in the ancient tongue. “ _We must hurry to beat the humans._ ”

The Sentinel led them through the inner paths of the temple, and Miir’ven couldn’t help looking around in awe, pausing to examine some of the mosaics-- and, after lighting a veilfire torch, the elven writing on the walls. “I’ve never seen this before,” she murmured, tracing a finger over the lettering. “It’s unreadable.”

”No,” Solas said, an odd look on his face. “It’s not. It’s the language of the gods of Arlathan-- it tells… It is a warning to Mythal. One carved by another god.”

Miir’ven looked at him quizzically, but couldn’t question him on it before their guide was snapping at them to catch up.

They ended up having to fight through one patch of Venatori, but it was easy enough to overpower them with the help of the Sentinels. Miir’ven led the charge through the few paths left, and couldn’t help but pause on the balcony they emerged upon, overlooking the Well. “ _Gods protect us,_ ” she murmured, awed. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Solas standing at her side.

” _Fen’Harel watches you,_ ” he said; Miir’ven felt her eyes widen. “ _He protects you._ ”

She opened her mouth to respond, but then caught sight of Calpernia and her Venatori at the bottom of the stairs. “Fuck; come on!”

************

”Where I come from, idle tales must be proven,” Calpernia snarled-- but Miir’ven could read the fear and uncertainty behind her eyes. She tossed the scroll that Leliana and her agents had obtained from a magister locked in an ancient shrine to an Old God to Calpernia, who caught it and opened it, her eyes widening as she realized what it contained-- a spell to bind Calpernia, to enslave her, mind, body, and soul. To make her only a puppet-- a true Vessel. “This-- he made so many promises, and they were all _lies!_ ” The scroll went up in flames with the last word, with Calpernia’s fury, and she snapped out an order to the Venatori before turning back to Miir’ven. “Keep the Well; I go to confront my master. If I live, I will return to Tevinter.”

Miir’ven nodded, respectful. “I wish you luck.”

They watched Calpernia and the Venatori leave-- but Miir’ven noticed Abelas running for the Well. “Abelas, no!” Miir’ven sprinted after him, her companions following-- but Abelas was stopped by Morrigan.

”You heard him, Inquisitor,” she said, voice haughty as she looked at the ancient elf. “He means to destroy the Well.”

”To keep it from the likes of you,” Abelas spat, glaring at Morrigan. “To keep it from those who would misuse its power.”

Morrigan opened her mouth to respond, but Miir’ven threw a hand up. “Enough,” she said firmly. “Morrigan, we’re done here. Calpernia will not be Corypheus’s Vessel, and we have won this battle. The Well need not be disturbed.”

”And how do you plan to stop Corypheus, then?” Morrigan demanded. “He is _immortal_. The Well could give us the knowledge we need to defeat him.”

Abelas shook his head. “You know not what you would interfere with,” he said, turning to the Well. “When each servant of Mythal reached the end of their life, they passed their knowledge into the Well. They live on through it-- whoever drinks from the Well will be bound.”

That had to be the price mentioned earlier. “Bound?”

”Bound, as we are bound-- to the will of Mythal.” Abelas looked at the Well, his expression contemplative, before he nodded once. “You have shown respect to Mythal, and to this temple-- and there is a righteousness in you that I cannot deny. Is that your wish, then? To partake of the Vir’abelassan, to learn how to defeat your enemy?”

Miir’ven hesitated. “If the Well can tell me how to defeat Corypheus, then yes. He must be stopped.”

Abelas nodded, stepping back. “Then take it-- but remember, whoever drinks from the Well will be bound to Mythal.”

Morrigan snorted derisively. “Bound, to a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?”

”Bound to a being more powerful and more determined than you think,” Abelas answered, before turning to leave.

Solas reached out, stopping him. “ _Go in peace, Abelas. Find a new name, a new purpose. Do not let this be your end; there are gods yet in this world to serve, to protect._ ” Abelas looked at him speculatively before nodding and replying with words said too low for Miir’ven to hear. 

Morrigan tried to convince Miir’ven that she alone had the knowledge to use the Well’s power effectively-- and Miir’ven had had enough of her superiority complex. “ _I have the knowledge_ ,” she spat in the ancient tongue, eyes sparking and lightning crackling over her skin. “ _I have dreamt with Fen’Harel himself, I have seen the Fade in ways no one else has. You are a mere human, a witch, and do not know as much as you think you do. I have seen the Fade-- I have seen the creation of the Veil, the downfall of Arlathan. I have knowledge you would not dream of, and I am elvhen. I am already connected to this Well, more than you could ever be. It is elven, it is of my people, and I will not allow it to fall into the hands of a shem!_”

There was a stunned silence after her tirade, but Miir’ven did not back down, head held high and looking at Morrigan challengingly; after a last, longing glance to the Vir’abelassan, the human backed away. “You are correct,” she conceded stiffly. “Drink, then, Inquisitor.”

” _Ma vhenan,_ ” Solas called; when Miir’ven glanced over her shoulder, his expression was stricken. “ _You are binding yourself to another god-- what of yours?_ ”

Miir’ven offered Solas a reassuring smile. “ _I will always be loyal to him, first and forever. But this… I must think of Thedas; and to save her, I need the Well._ ” With that, Miir’ven waded in, and bent down to cup her hands beneath the water, bringing it to her lips and drinking.

************

She blinked, and found herself in the midst of fog, a swirling presence around her as a voice echoed from every direction: “ _Who are you? Why do you come?_ ”

”I am Miir’ven, of Clan Lavellan, and I need your help,” Miir’ven cried, turning on the spot. “Please, I need to know how to defeat Corypheus. Exact any price you wish, but please, help me save this world.”

There was a ringing silence, and then, “ _Mate of Fen’Harel-- you would bind yourself to another god? You would turn your back on him, he who has protected and guided you since before you can remember, just to save the world?_ ”

”Saving Thedas is worth any price!” Miir’ven snapped. “And I will never turn my back on Fen’Harel-- he is _mine_ , and I am his!”

The voice seemed to multiply, speaking to itself, before addressing Miir’ven once again. “ _Very well; you will gain the knowledge of the Well-- not only the knowledge you seek. You have become the Vessel._ ” The fog suddenly closed in, drowning Miir’ven-- her skin felt too tight, her head hurt, it was too much _too much_ \--

************

” _Ma vhenan, please, not like this-- please, wake up, wake up, wake up_.”

Miir’ven woke with a gasp, eyes flying open and back arching as she sucked in great lungfuls of air, scrambling to her feet. “Wha-- It worked,” she said, a bit dazed; Solas gathered her in his arms, pressing his face to the crook of her neck. Miir’ven was a bit startled by the sudden movement, but she went easily, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m okay,” she murmured.

”You nearly died,” he muttered, sounding… petulant, almost. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Miir’ven let out a breathless laugh, but before she could respond, she caught sight of something across the courtyard-- Corypheus. She jerked away from Solas, shoving him behind her. “Everyone, through the Eluvian!” she ordered, pointing at it with one hand that began to glow-- the Eluvian lit up, and Miir’ven wasted no time herding everyone through it. “Go, go, go!” Holy shit, who knew Corypheus could freaking _fly?!_

************

Once they were back at Skyhold, Miir’ven sought Solas out-- she had some questions for him. Apparently, he had questions for her as well; she barely got in the door before he was rounding on her, demanding to know what she’d been thinking, binding herself to Mythal-- and Miir’ven didn’t have any time for this. “Better I take the knowledge that a human,” she snarled. “The only one more qualified than me to drink from the Well would have been you, and I didn’t see you volunteering!”

Solas’s mouth opened and then closed a few times, like a fish out of water, and Miir’ven crossed her arms in front of her, one eyebrow raised as she waited for his response. Eventually, he responded with, “It… would not have been a good idea for me to drink from the Well, to bind myself to another god.” Miir’ven debated pressing the issue, but was distracted by his next question: “What do you intend to do with this knowledge, besides defeat Corypheus?”

She considered the questin carefully. “I want to return things to the way they were,” she said. “With some changes.”

Solas seemed surprised-- but pleased-- by her answer. They were quiet for a moment, but then Solas asked, “Would you accompany me to Crestwood? There is a place I would like to show you.”

Miir’ven smiled. “I’d love to.”

************

They arrived at Crestwood just after dusk, when it was not quite night-- everything was lit by a soft, silver light, and Miir’ven couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of the waterfall. “This is beautiful, Solas,” she said, her hand slipping from his as she stepped forward. “I didn’t know this place existed.”

Solas smiled. “It’s not as beautiful as you,” he disagreed, and Miir’ven couldn’t help but chuckle. Solas sobered, though, reaching out to cup her cheek in one hand. “I was trying to find a way to tell you what you mean to me,” he murmured. “But what do you give the woman who could have anything she desired? Eventually, I decided that I must tell you the truth.”

Miir’ven tilted her head, curious. “The truth?”

Solas took a deep breath. “I have… lied. To you, to Cassandra, Leliana, the entire Inquisition. I am not an apostate.” Miir’ven frowned, waiting; she could see how hard this was for Solas. “I-- You… When you drank from the Well, I almost couldn’t watch. I didn’t want to watch you bind yourself to another, when all I wanted was for you to bind yourself to me.” Realization began to dawn, but Miir’ven didn’t say anything; she needed to hear it from his mouth. “I once asked you-- one of the first things I ever asked you-- was why you took no vallaslin. Do you remember your answer, that night in the Fade?”

”Because there was no record of any vallaslin for Fen’Harel,” she remembered. “Solas, are you saying--”

Solas brought her hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to it before backing away a few steps; the air around him shimmered and grew brighter until miir’ven had to shield her eyes. When it dimmed and she could look again, her wolf was standing before her. He was as tall as she was, and seeing him in the flesh was more impressive than seeing him in the Fade had ever been. “You-- Solas, you… You’re Fen’Harel?”

The wolf-- Solas-- _Fen’Harel_ nodded. “I wished to tell you, but the opportunity never came up.”

Fen’Harel’s words struck a memory, and Miir’ven gasped. “You-- I told you-- Oh gods.”

There was another flash of light, and then Solas was standing before her-- she couldn't’ help but think of them as separate, even now. “I am sorry, ma vhenan, but I could not tell you then-- I feel the same way; I love you.”

Another thought occurred to Miir’ven, then. “That’s why you said it would not be wise to start a relationship,” she realized. “Because you-- you are immortal, or close to it. I’m just…”

”The soulmate of a god,” Fen’Harel said firmly. “That is why you woke beside me the first time you entered the Fade; that is why you were able to share my dreams without me explicitly inviting you to. You are my soulmate, ma vhenan. I am yours, and you are mine.”

Miir’ven looked at him in shock. “Soulmates-- they exist?”

Fen’Harel nodded. “Yes. Each soul has its perfect mate; for mine, it is you.”

Miir’ven rubbed a hand over her face. “This is a lot to take in,” she said, her voice muffled. “I mean, I know Fen’Harel, and I know Solas, but to know that they are the same person? It’s… a lot.”

The look on Fen’Harel’s face was slightly regretful. “I am sorry that I could not tell you from the start,” he said. “But I could not find you in the Fade after what happened at the Conclave, and I did not trust the Inquisition in the beginning. The longer the lie went on…”

”The harder it would have been to reveal the truth,” Miir’ven finished for him. “Then why did you tell me now?”

Fen’Harel sighed. “You bound yourself to Mythal, by partaking of the Vir’abelassan. I was… jealous.”

Miir’ven chuckled. “The great Fen’Harel, jealous?” she teased.

He treated her to an unimpressed look. “Yes, jealous. You are bound, now, to the will of Mythal-- but you are _my_ soulmate.”

Miir’ven’s expression turned apologetic. “I shouldn’t tease,” she allowed, stepping forward and tentatively taking his hand in hers. “I may be bound to the will of Mythal, but I am loyal to you; I have always been.”

Fen’Harel smiled, running his thumb over the back of her hand. “I know,” he said. He took a deep breath, and then added, “I also brought you here to give you a… proposal, of sorts. You know the origin of the vallaslin?” He waited for Miir’ven’s nod before he continued, “I know the Dalish have reclaimed it, made it into a way to honor the gods rather than the markings of a slave. I removed all memory and record of my own vallaslin, though-- as you know.”

”Fen’Harel, what are you--”

”I am offering you my vallaslin. Not to mark you as my slave, but to mark you as mine.” His words shocked Miir’ven into silence, and she blinked owlishly at him. “I have told you who I am, and I have told you how I feel about you; I would wish to see you wear my mark.”

Miir’ven was quiet for a moment, and then: “Is this your way of asking me to marry you?” she asked, only half-teasing.

Fen’Harel flushed slightly. “I suppose it might be, yes,” he answered; clearly, that hadn’t been what she was expecting. Miir’ven startled.

”You’re-- really?”

”Yes,” Fen’Harel answered, more firmly. “I am.”

A slow smile spread over Miir’ven’s face. “Then I accept-- on one condition. If I am to wear your mark, then you must wear mine.”

Fen’Harel laughed. “I think that is something that I can do,” he agreed.

Miir’ven’s smile widened, and she leaned up to peck a kiss to Fen’Harel’s cheek. “When shall we do it?”

Fen’Harel gestured to a couple of nearby rocks. “No time like the present.”

Miir’ven nodded, moving to sit down on one of them, tugging Fen’Harel down with her. The god raised her hand in his. “Do you have an idea of what you wish to use?” Miir’ven thought for a moment, and then nodded. “I’ll help you do it,” he said, closing his eyes. “Keep the design in your mind, and think of it appearing on my skin.”

They both took deep breaths, and then Fen’Harel helped coax Miir’ven’s magic out, helping her shape it into the design she wanted, then pushing it onto his skin; he could feel the markings working their way into his skin, burning slightly as they did so. It didn’t take long for them to finish, and Fen’Harel took a deep breath before looking at Miir’ven. “How does it look?”

Miir’ven studied her work for a moment before smiling. “It looks good on you.”

Fen’Harel turned to the small pond, studying his reflection; the markings that Miir’ven had chosen were sharp, angular-- but they suited him. He smiled, turning back to Miir’ven. “I like them,” he said.

”Good,” Miir’ven said, pleased. “Now do me.”

Fen’Harel smiled, lifting his hands to frame Miir’ven’s face. “This might sting a little,” he warned before closing his eyes and concentrating, bestowing his vallaslin upon an elf for the first time in ages. When he was done, he opened his eyes, studying his handiwork. “Just as I remember it,” he murmured.

Miir’ven studied her new vallaslin in her reflection before smiling. “I like it,” she decided, tracing the way the vallaslin curved under both eyes and up between her eyebrows. 

Fen’Harel grinned, pulling her in for a kiss. “I’m glad,” he murmured.

************

They spent as much time as they could at the waterfall, but unfortunately they could not stay there forever; Corypheus had been thwarted in his quest for the knowledge of the Well of Sorrows, but now he must be destroyed if Thedas was to be saved.

Predictably, there were questions when they both showed up at Skyhold with brand new markings on their faces and holding hands, but the only answer both Miir’ven and Fen’Harel-- and she would have to remember to call him “Solas” in front of the others-- gave was that it was an ancient elven tradition, one that had to be done away from prying eyes; it was not _quite_ a lie, but it certainly did not encompass the entire truth. The Inquisitor suspected that the answer they gave wasn’t completely satisfactory for her inner circle, but there were no complaints. Miir’ven spent several days with Solas in the rotunda, poring over ancient tomes as the voices of the Well whispered to her. They told her little about Corypheus and how to defeat him, although it was clear that they were working on it. In the meantime, Miir’ven quizzed Solas on everything she could, learning all that she was able to.

”One thing I’ve always wondered about,” she began one day, reclining on Solas’s bed as she paged through a book on the Fade, “is the similarities between Dalish and shemlen religion.”

Solas looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

”Well, there is a powerful god and his bride in each, an ancient city that was destroyed by shemlen, the betrayal of a powerful woman, and the downfall of the gods. There are even more similarities between the elven gods and the Old Gods of Tevinter.”

Solas chuckled. “You are right; they are similar. But they are similar because they are the same.”

Miir’ven sat up, intrigued. “Really?”

”Really,” Solas said. “The ancient gods of the elves-- Elgar’nan, June, Sylaise, Mythal, Falon’Din, Dirthamen, Andruil, myself, and Ghilan’nain-- were not true gods, but we are--were-- simply incredibly powerful beings because of our unique connection to the Fade. Arlathan was the Golden City, and when the Tevinter magisters breached it, they activated a security system that was designed to curse and twist the intruders; unfortunately, the system was never fully tested, and we did not know that those magisters would become the monsters that they did. All it took was one managing to escape to this world, and the Blight was born. I created the Veil in an attempt to contain it, and it worked-- to a point.” Solas swallowed, his voice quiet as he said, “It required blood sacrifice-- hundreds of elves. I locked away my family, and myself. Separating the two worlds helped some; but it did not work as I had hoped. There were places where the Veil was thin, stretched through the earth, and it was there that the darkspawn lived-- there where they found their way through. Enough darkspawn in one place can draw enough spirits, who push and claw at the Veil until they tear it apart-- enough to allow some of the darkspawn through before it is repaired. Then, they seek out one of the Old Gods, one of my family, waking them-- and when it wakes, it is called an Archdemon, no longer whoever it was before the darkspawn corrupted it.”

A thought struck Miir’ven. “That’s why you wanted the Grey Wardens disbanded-- because they killed your family members.”

Solas sighed. “I lashed out at them, yes; but it is not truly their fault. You were correct when you said that the only way to end a Blight was to kill the Archdemon-- but I have stumbled upon a ritual, one written by Sylaise. She was there when the defenses were built into the foundations of Arlathan, and she had a certain gift for guessing the future. She was not always right, but more often than not, she was correct or at least on the right path. She created a ritual, one that would remove the soul of the god from the Archdemon and transfer it to a new vessel; this was something we could do at will, but only when we were at full strength. This ritual allowed an outsider to take the soul either into themselves, or to graft it to the soul of another being.”

”So there might be a way to save the gods still left?” Miir’ven asked, abandoning her book. “If another Blight came, could we save them?”

”I do not know,” Solas admitted. “But I think so. I hope so. Too many of my family have died; I would wish to save the others, if I could.”

Miir’ven pushed herself to her feet, coming to stand in front of Solas and take his hands in hers. “I will help in whatever way I can,” she swore. “They are my family now, too.”

Solas smiled, leaning in for a quick, gentle kiss. “Thank you.”

************

It was later that day that the voices told Miir’ven they’d figured out the solution to stopping Corypheus from body-jumping; she called her council together and told them the plan. The voices said that the answer she sought lay in an alter in the wilderness; she pointed out it’s location on the map. “I must go there,” she continued, “and summon Mythal.”

Morrigan looked at Miir’ven like she was crazy. “Mythal disappeared ages ago; what makes you think she will answer your summons?”

”I’m willing to bet that the voices in the Well can speak to her as well; they will let her know that I am coming,” Miir’ven answered. “But I don’t know what, exactly, we will face there, so I will bring a few companions with me. We will leave as soon as possible.”

After the council dispersed, Morrigan held Miir’ven back. “You hear the Well?” she asked. “It speaks to you?”

Miir’ven nodded. “Yes; some voices are louder than others, but all are intelligible.”

Morrigan looked wistful. “If only-- Well, there was only one Vir’abelassan. I cannot imagine the depth of the knowledge you now hold.”

Miir’ven smiled to herself. “It is amazing,” she murmured. “I already knew so much, but now… Now there is another side to the stories of history. Once Corypheus is gone, I intend to use this knowledge to change things; hopefully for the better.”

Morrigan nodded, then hesitated before asking, “The vallaslin on your face-- I have never seen that design.”

Miir’ven raised one eyebrow. “Is that so?”

”Yes. And there is only one god who does not have a vallaslin…”

”Fen’Harel,” Miir’ven finished. “Yes. His vallaslin has not been used for centuries, and all records of it were stricken. Solas and I bound ourselves to one another, in a ritual that I very much doubt you have ever heard of; I bear the design that he made, and he wears mine.” With that, Miir’ven left Morrigan behind, feeling distinctly as though she had just dodged an arrow.

************

The altar of Mythal was easily found; Miir’ven traveled with her usual group, asking Blackwall and Bull to stand guard. Miir’ven and Fen’Harel studied the altar, and Fen’Harel sighed. “It is a shame to see these grow fewer and fewer with each passing decade,” he murmured. “I never had many-- People rarely made offerings to me.”

”So you are one of the elven gods.” Morrigan’s voice came from behind them, and Miir’ven whirled, drawing her staff.

”What are you doing here?” she demanded, stepping protectively in front of Fen’Harel.

”I came to see if Mythal would answer your summons. And here I find you speaking with your-- husband? Master?”

Fen’Harel bared his teeth, stepping forward to Miir’ven’s side. “Miir’ven is mine, and I am hers; that is all _you_ need to know, witch,” he spat. “You have no place here; begone.”

Fen’Harel lifted one hand, his fingers starting to glow, but Miir’ven grasped his writst. “Wait; the Well says she may remain. Mythal wants to see her.” Miir’ven and Fen’Harel exchanged looks before Fen’Harel glanced to Morrigan, eyeing her suspiciously. 

”Fine,” he conceded after a moment, lowering his hand. “But can I at least knock her out if she gets too annoying?”

Miir’ven didn’t bother dignifying that with an answer, instead turning to the altar and closing her eyes before calling out, “Mythal! You know who I am, and why I come here; I ask for your help, as does your twin. Please, answer our summons!”

There was silence for several long moments, and then: “Well. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, little brother.”

Fen’Harel whirled, Miir’ven mirroring the movement. Before the altar stood a woman with a draconic hairstyle, her hair silver and her face wrinkled. “Mythal,” Fen’Harel breathed before leaping forward, wrapping his arms around his sister. “I feared you dead.”

Mythal merely hugged him back-- the moment was interrupted, however, by Morrigan’s outraged exclamation. “ _You_ are Mythal?” she demanded.

Miir’ven looked to the human woman curiously. “You know her?”

”She is a deceiving witch who preys upon her daughters to extend her own life!” Morrigan cried, lifting her arms; magic swirled around them, but Mythal seemed unfazed by it.

”Be a good sister-in-law and restrain her, Miir’ven,” she said, almost bored.

Miir’ven was surprised to find her limbs moving without her consent, shoving Morrigan back until the other woman stumbled. “What are you doing?” Morrigan hissed, betrayed.

”I am bound to Mythal,” Miir’ven realized. “I must obey her.”

”Yes, but I never liked having mindless playthings. That was Elgar’nan,” Mythal said, waving her hand dismissively. “Come here, girl, I want to take a look at my brother’s soulmate. He hid the last one from all of us-- a wise move, in hindsight.”

Miir’ven glanced at Fen’Harel, frowning. _Last one_? she mouthed; he shrugged and jerked his head in a manner that Miir’ven interpreted as _I’ll tell you later._ Still, Miir’ven allowed herself to walk forward until she was standing in front of Mythal, who inspected her with a critical eye. “I like her,” she announced eventually. “I think she will be good for you, brother.”

”She already has been,” Fen’Harel agreed, moving to wrap an arm around Miir’ven’s waist, pulling her close to his side; she didn’t mind the blatant display of possessiveness.

”I hate to be that person, but perhaps we could get back to the matter at hand?” Miir’ven said from where she was tucked up under Fen’Harel’s arm. “I need a way to defeat Corypheus.”

Mythal nodded. “Of course.” She reached out with one hand, touching Miir’ven’s forehead lightly; the skin tingled at the contact. “The Guardian of the Altar will come; best it in battle, and it will be yours to command. _Once_. The key to Corypheus’s power is his pet dragon; kill it, and he can be killed.”

Miir’ven smiled. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. It was about what she’d expected; she’d known that they weren’t just going to be handed the key to destroying Corypheus. She wouldn’t have trusted it if they had.

”Wait,” Fen’Harel said suddenly. “Please don’t tell me--”

Mythal smirked. “Yes; High Dragons live a long time, didn’t you know that, brother?”

”Shit.”

************

”What the hell did you ever do to this thing?” Miir’ven demanded, throwing another barrier around Fen’Harel.

”I might have dyed its scales once!” he called back, throwing up a wall of ice. “And sheared one of its horns off when I was pissed at Mythal.”

” _Solas_!”

************

Miir’ven was in a meeting with her council, trying to decide where Corypheus was hiding, now that they were able to counter his dragon with one of their own when a horribly familiar green light flooded the war room as Miir’ven’s mark pulsed brightly. “Corypheus,” she hissed, looking out the window-- and sure enough, the Breach was reopened.

”Why would he do that?” Josephine demanded, horrified. “Surely he can’t think--”

”Either I close the Breach again, or it swallows the world,” Miir’ven finished, clenching her hands into fists.

”Inquisitor, we don’t have any forces to send with you; they’re still coming back from the Arbor Wilds.”

”It’s better this way,” Miir’ven decided. “Just me and him. Leliana, send a few scouts ahead, see what they can report back-- but _make sure they’re careful_. I don’t want to think what Corypheus might do to them if he catches them.”

Leliana inclined her head. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

”I’ll grab Solas, Blackwall, and Bull,” Miir’ven continued. “They’ve been by my side this whole time; it’d be a shame to cheat them out of this last fight. One way or another, this is it.”

************

They arrived at the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes to Corypheus raving like a madmen-- Leliana’s agents before him. Bull lopped the head off a Terror demon attacking one of the men, and Miir’ven strode forward, fury leaving sparks in her wake.

”I knew you would come,” Corypheus sneered.

”It ends here, Coryphyshit,” Miir’ven snarled; behind her, she could hear Bull and Blackwall snickering as she purposefully misnamed Corypheus, but she didn’t pay them any attention.

Corypheus snarled. “So it shall!” he shouted, magic flaring about his hands as he lifted them to the heavens; beneath them, the ground shook and broke as it was lifted into the sky. It was a struggle to keep her balance, but when the ground finally stabilized, Corypheus stalked forward. “You have been most successful in foiling my plans,” he growled. “But let us not forget what you are: a usurper, a pretender-- a fake. We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.”

”You talk too damn much,” Miir’ven complained, but before she could attack, Corypheus’s dragon appeared out of the sky-- but was knocked aside by the Guardian of Mythal.

Corypheus stared in horror before glaring at Miir’ven. “You dare--” he bellowed, but Miir’ven cut him off.

”I dare!” she shouted. “I dare to protect Thedas from the monster that started the Blight!” With that, she leapt forward, unsheathing her spirit blade and lashing out with it.

The battle was hard-fought, but in the end, Corypheus was left powerless, beseeching a god who no longer existed; Miir’ven called the orb-- Fen’Harel’s focus-- to her, and it obeyed willingly. She closed the Breach once again, and then advanced on Corypheus, who was kneeling, keening, on the ground. “You wanted into the Fade so bad?” she asked, snarling with the fury of her wolf. “Then let me help you.” She opened a rift _inside_ of Corypheus, and then slammed it closed, tearing him to pieces.

With the death of Corypheus, the magic holding the rocks they stood upon vanished, leaving them plummeting to the ground. Distantly, Miir’ven heard Fen’Harel shouting for her as she dove for the orb-- after all this, she must return it to Fen’Harel--

Then everything was dark.

************

”Ma vhenan,” Fen’Harel whispered, cradling Miir’ven’s face in his hands as he knelt on the ground, the orb shattered a few feet away; he found he did not care about it now as he once had, not with his mate lying so still in his lap. “Ma vhenan, please, wake up.” He gently ran one hand over her forehead, tracing the top of the vallaslin he’d placed upon her-- _Please, not like this,_ he begged whoever would listen. _Do not let her die like this, she deserves so much better--_ “Miir’ven, wake up, _wake up_ \--”

”Fuck, my head hurts.”

Fen’Harel opened his eyes, unaware that he’d closed them, to look at Miir’ven in shock. “Miir’ven?”

The elven woman cracked one eye open. “Don’t tackle me so damn hard next time,” she croaked.

Fen’Harel let out a sob of a laugh, pulling Miir’ven in tight to his breast, holding her close. “I thought you’d died,” he muttered, voice thick. “You scared the life out of me.”

Miir’ven chuckled. “I’m too stubborn to die on you just yet,” she murmured back, wrapping one arm around his neck. They stayed like that for several long moments until Miir’ven pulled back. “What about the focus?” she asked, looking around.

Fen’Harel nodded to the pieces of the orb. “Broke, in the fall. But you are more important than that. I can craft another orb, though it will take a long time. I cannot craft another of you.”

That earned a chuckle from Miir’ven, but she was kept from responding by Cassandra calling for her. Fen’Harel helped her to her feet, and they walked out of the rubble together, hand-in-hand.

************

That night, back at Skyhold, Fen’Harel only let Miir’ven mingle with her guests and companions before he dragged her away, not bothering to give an excuse to anyone or let Miir’ven do so either. Once they were safely in her quarters, Fen’Harel pulled her in for a long, slow kiss. “I find myself in awe of the fact that we both survived this,” he murmured.

Miir’ven smiled, not pulling away further than she had to. “I think I’m mostly shocked that _I_ survived; I honestly did not think I would.”

Fen’Harel laughed softly. “I watched over you from the day you refused the vallaslin,” he replied. “I guided you, protected you-- and fell in love with you. I would never have let you die, not while it was in my power to keep you safe.”

Miir’ven’s smile softened, and she leaned in for another kiss. “ _I love you,_ ” she murmured in the ancient tongue. “ _You make me whole._ ”

Fen’Harel returned the kiss, lingering before he said, “ _And you, me._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Because I suck at describing the tattoos, Miir'ven and Fen'Harel give each other the top right and bottom right(respectively) from this link: http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20150414032823/dragonage/images/7/72/HumanTats.jpg


End file.
